Normally, the city-states of Mu were fiercely independent and quick to take grievance with each other. During these past months, I’d been showing my three cities the utility of cooperation.

  As I said earlier, I planned to march to Tsargol’s aid. The desert city sat just beyond the main valley route from the Old Forsaken Lands. They were formerly atomic-ravaged lands, filled with dark spires, crystalline ranges, and secret valleys, an immense region housing raptor-riding Draconians and the serpentine Ophidians.

  When Tsargol was strong, the Draconians and Ophidians seldom raided. When the city was weak—the usual condition—raids happened all the time, and massed assaults every seven-to-ten years.

  I meant to end that forever.

  The Crimson Talon Horde of Red Sarus was returning to Tsargol, but with 15,000 Draconians instead of the 10,000 that the city had faced upon my arrival to Mu. This time, they didn’t come alone, either. Thousands of Ophidians marched with them, snake-men with serrated swords, poisoned darts, and a vile taste for human flesh.

  Our pterodactyls had left Sky Island, a circular chunk of volcanic rock held aloft by ancient antigravity science and materials from one of Mu’s moons. We now soared over the red desert that lay to the east of the Old Forsaken Lands.

  “Look there,” one of the riders shouted, pointing down.

  It was a Draconian patrol, maybe fifteen raptors and riders, picking their way through a canyon. They didn’t act as if they’d seen us.

  I knew what he wanted, but we had other game today.

  “We’re not hunting outriders,” I shouted.

  One of the younger riders, Tarl, pulled his mount closer to mine. “Why not blood them, Sire? My beast hungers for reptilian meat.”

  “Your beast can hunger a while longer,” Forkbeard shouted. “The King says we fly on, so on we fly.”

  Tarl drew on a strap, slowing his mount and thus pulling away from us.

  We flew, with the pterodactyls flapping their massive wings to maintain altitude but mostly gliding on the thermals that rose from the sunbaked lands.

  As I said, I was planning to challenge Karn the Red, a warrior well known among the cities and outlands of Mu.

  From Suvorov—who left little to chance—I’d learned that Karn was a raider, slaver, murderer, and thief, a cruel and pitiless man, truly a Pterodactyl Rider of the old school. He would be hard to defeat, but defeat I must if I wished to command all the riders of the sky.

  Once I challenged him, Karn would have the right to choose the arms and terrain. From his study on the matter, Suvorov said that Karn would choose the sky and to fight on pterodactyl back.

  There was one other point to consider. This was from Suvorov again. Karn was vicious and strong, and accounted the best knife-thrower among the riders.

  I would have to be ready for such a tactic.

  I did have a plan myself, one ready for several contingencies.

  If Karn said, “We will fight lance to lance,” I would have to abide by the customs of the challenge, and only use my lance and possibly the talons of my pterodactyl. However, Karn might well hurl a throwing knife at me in the midst of combat, and I doubt few would cry foul over that, especially if he slew me.

  But if Karn said, “We will fight on pterodactyl back,” that was a different matter.

  You see, for over a year I had given careful thought to pterodactyl combat. I know that was the Marine in me, looking at battle angles and tactics. I’d concluded that using a fifteen-foot lance with a two-foot head of steel was clumsy and difficult to do well while airborne. It was much easier to joust on horseback like an old-time knight. The reason for that was simple. Knights fought on a horizontal field. Pterodactyl combat was up, down, sideways and everything between.

  Riding on a swooping pterodactyl and trying to hit a swaying back on a scampering raptor, for instance, with a lance, took amazing timing and skill.

  I did not possess Karn’s lance-fighting skill, not in the least. He was acclaimed one of the best, and I was still learning. Perhaps as importantly, I thought that employing a pterodactyl lance was a poor use of a tactically amazing mount.

  I’d often considered introducing bows and arrows to my Pterodactyl Riders. Unfortunately, using a Mongol-style bow, for instance, would take years of training and practice. And if the Raptor Riders ever decided to use bows and arrows—military secrets seldom lasted for long—they could begin to defend themselves against our aerial assaults.

  Imagine flocks of arrows greeting a swooping pterodactyl. No, I would not be introducing bows and arrows to Mu any time soon.

  Instead, I did the next best and logical thing. I’d practiced many long months using javelins from pterodactyl back. In this, I recalled my reading about the Second Punic War between Carthage and Rome. In particular, I thought about Hannibal Barca. He’d used the nimble Numidian pony riders in his battles against the dreaded legionnaires.

  The Numidians were North Africans, a dusky people, although not black. They had ridden their nimble mounts without stirrups or saddles, riding like Comanches from the Old West, with incomparable skill. They had curved knives and small target shields. Their main weapons had been javelins and a thin spear. They were said to maneuver like starlings, showering their javelins at a foe before riding away and maybe swooping back for another javelin shower later.

  I’d practiced long hours hurling javelins from my pterodactyl saddle. I had become more accurate lately, standing up in the saddle with my feet in stirrups. Hurling at diving speed from the pterodactyl’s back and using that added momentum with the javelin made for savage strikes.

  It would still take me many more months to become truly deadly with my javelins, however. Then I would teach my riders this skill. I was determined to make efficient use of my air arm, and javelins were definitely the answer.

  I had long saddlebags filled with javelins, ready for us. But whether I used them in the coming fight for supremacy would depend on Karn’s answer, and the mood of the watching Pterodactyl Riders. If I used them, would they see the javelins as legitimate?

  I wasn’t sure, and I worried about that as we continued to soar toward my challenge with destiny.

  -2-

  Mid-morning turned to afternoon, and the landscape began to change. The red desert gave way to scrubland, then to actual grasslands as dusk neared. I could see herds of the rangy cattle that the frontier settlements raised. They reminded me of Texas Longhorns, just skinnier and more nimble.

  That the cattle thrived on a dinosaur-heavy planet had surprised me at first. The herders were tough men, mainly because they had their hands full fending off the predators of their precious herds.

  “There.” Forkbeard pointed into the distance. “Trader’s Hollow. I suggest we rest the beasts there tonight.”

  “Remember,” I said, “we’re riders of Sky Island.”

  “I know,” Forkbeard said, maybe with a sigh. It was hard to tell up here.

  “Will the townspeople realize that down there?” I asked.

  Forkbeard looked thoughtful. “I doubt it.”

  I studied Forkbeard, expecting to see regret in him. The giant warrior had been instrumental in so much, but I suspected he missed the old life. If I died fighting Karn, would Forkbeard leave Sky Island and return to true Pterodactyl Rider ways?

  The settlement had high walls of dressed stone, maybe three thousand souls in all, probably a third of them refugees from past Draconian raids.

  As our shadows passed over the town in customary pterodactyl manner, I heard warning bells ring.

  Like mice running from cats, people fled from the streets, no doubt slamming and bolting doors and shutters.

  Our flags waved prominently. It was the banner of Sky Island: a golden flame on a black field. I imagined the townspeople viewed us as Pterodactyl Riders first and failed to notice the flags.

  We landed in a cleared field outside the walls, our beasts sending up dust as their talons bit into the earth. Like the others, my beast’s head swiveled to eye the cattle pens.

  We waited.

  Finally, as the sun sank below the horizon, the main gate opened and a head poked out.

  I motioned for him to come over.

  A few minutes later, he reappeared, an old, lean man dressed in finery, flanked by a dozen spearmen. They looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. It turned out that the headman’s name was Craddock.

  “Lord,” he said, bowing low. “Trader’s Hollow is honored by your presence. How may we serve you?”

  “We need feed for our pterodactyls,” I said.

  He swallowed hard; everyone knew that Draco Pterodactyls had enormous appetites.

  “They’ll need half a beast each,” I said. “We’ll pay in gold, however, not take it as tribute.”

  Craddock’s eyes widened. Pterodactyl Riders paying instead of taking—it was still a novel concept that I’d introduced since Sky Island left the Old Forsaken Lands. He might never have heard of it, or if he had, not believed it.

  “I also wanted you to spread the word,” I said. “The King of Sky Island calls all free men to arms. The Crimson Talon Horde rides against Tsargol, as do Ophidian raiders. Any who can hold a spear should make for Tsargol. United, we stand. Divided, we’re raptor food.”

  Craddock nodded, but I knew it didn’t mean anything to him or his men, not yet, anyway. I said it to plant a seed, hoping that in the years to come men would remember what I said.

  That night, as my riders feasted around their fires (I’d forbidden them from taking any women who weren’t willing, though defining “willing” when dealing with Pterodactyl Riders was always complicated), I stood apart with Forkbeard, studying the stars.

  “Karn is cunning in the ways of challenge,” the giant said, pulling at his forked beard. “He’s killed several challengers since he took leadership. He also fights dirty, even by our standards.”

  Suvorov had already told me all that.

  “I need a smashing victory against the Crimson Talon Horde,” I said. “Even with the combined soldiers from our three cities, we have too few to do that. The massed Pterodactyl Riders will make up the difference.”

  “Or Karn the Red will kill you and lead all the riders back into the old ways,” Forkbeard said. “He hates you for persuading me and the others to follow your ideals. He hates the restrictions on the old ways.”

  “What restriction? You all live outdoors, raid within limits and take reasonable tribute. I just stopped the raping and the worst of the murdering.”

  “Aye, and to Karn, that’s too much restriction.” Forkbeard shifted his massive bulk. “You could use your fire lance against him and end it quickly.”

  I shook my head. Suvorov had suggested the same thing and I’d nixed the idea then.

  “If Karn says lance to lance, you would be within your rights,” Forkbeard said.

  “You know men would grumble against me for doing that.”

  After a moment, Forkbeard nodded. “Let me challenge him then. I’ll bring all the riders to you as my gift.”

  “I’m the King. I have to do this if I want loyal riders.”

  Forkbeard moved to a table and two chairs, with a board of the Game already on it. We sat, drank wine and played. He won two matches; I won the last one.

  Was that an omen?

  I snorted to myself. I was a Marine, had been, anyway, and maybe still was. I didn’t believe in omens, not really, not most of the time, anyway.

  Could I unite humanity on Mu and drive off the reptilian marauders? I wasn’t looking for a genocide campaign against the Draconians and Ophidians. I did think a mass migration of the Draconians to the Chaunt System and the Ophidians to Saddoth was reasonable in order to bring peace between the species.

  First, I had to round them up. No, first I had to defeat them. Well, first I had to protect humanity from the reptilian depredations.

  I stared up at the stars. They were not the same constellations I saw from Earth. This was Mu, a different planet in a different star system.

  I was the Traveler, a Marine from Earth trying to change interplanetary ways. Was I being foolish in that?

  From my interplanetary travels, I’d learned that several hostile powers preyed on everyone else. I wanted to make humanity strong. Was that wrong? I didn’t think so.

  My first roadblock to this was Karn the Red, a raider, slaver, murderer, and thief. He was cruel and pitiless, perhaps the most dangerous of the Pterodactyl Riders.

  Once I challenged him, he would have the right to choose arms and terrain. Karn was vicious and strong, and was accounted the best knife-thrower among the riders.

  Both Suvorov and Forkbeard had told me that Karn was a cheater. I’d practiced with the lance for many months. But was I good enough to defeat Karn that way?

  While thinking about it, I fell into troubled slumber.

  -3-

  For two more days we flew, the landscape becoming more mountainous and wild. The Bleached Peaks had certainly earned their name—white stone mountains that rose like teeth from the earth, their tops dusted with snow despite Mu’s generally warm climate. This struck me as Pterodactyl Rider territory in its purest form. There were no settlements and thus no civilization, just the wind, stone, and the freedom of the sky.

  Near noon on the third day, we saw them.

  Masses of pterodactyls were perched on the white cliffs like gargoyles, their riders visible in the saddles. As we approached, they launched—not to flee, but to meet us in the air.

  Had Karn known we were coming? I thought he might have. Would he have reasoned that out, or might I have a traitor in my midst? If he knew that I’d traveled to challenge him, might he choose this as the moment? My pterodactyl was weary from days of flying. His beast would be well rested. That might be critical in the coming fight.

  Karn’s riders formed a great wheel in the sky, circling us. I could feel the hostility radiating from them like heat from a forge.

  Then Karn flew closer. His pterodactyl was coal-black except for a white skull pattern on its triangular head-fin. The rider wore black leather, with bones sewn into his armor. He was smaller than Forkbeard but built like a wrestler. He seemed all compact muscle and barely contained violence. He wore a horned helmet and his jaw jutted forward.

  “The boy king comes to play in the mountains!” Karn shouted, his pterodactyl circling mine. The warrior had the loudest voice I’d ever heard. It made him seem even more powerful. “Do you hope to teach us to bow and scrape like your tame dogs?”

  My riders bristled, but Forkbeard’s glare kept them silent.

  Karn laughed in mockery, a loud, taunting laugh.

  Surely there was a traitor among my men, someone who had supplied this most dangerous warrior with knowledge of my plan.

  But I couldn’t worry about that now. I needed his Pterodactyl Riders. I needed them to bolster my city-state armies so I could smash the horde emerging from the Old Forsaken Lands.

  “I’ve come to challenge you, Karn,” I shouted. “I challenge you to single combat, by the old laws. The winner leads all the Pterodactyl Riders.”

  Once more, Karn laughed. It was an ugly, bullhorn-like sound this time, full of malice. “The old laws, you say? You tried to destroy them when you put a crown on your head and called yourself king. But I’ll fight you, boy. I’ll feed your corpse to my beast and take that pretty lance you’re so proud of.”

  “What are your terms?” I shouted, desperate to hear what he said.

  Would he make a mistake? I dearly hoped so. Yet if there was a traitor among my riders, Karn might already know about the javelins.

  “We will do this to the death,” he shouted. “There will be no quarter asked or given. And when I win, your riders will rejoin mine, and we will burn Sky Island to ash!”

  I felt Forkbeard tense on his pterodactyl, but I raised a hand. “I agree. And when I win, you and all your riders will bend the knee to me, and fly to war against the Crimson Talon Horde.”

  “If you win,” Karn said, already pulling his lance from its holder. “We fight here and now, in the sky, you and me, boy.”

  Shouts filled the sky, and the wheeling of the giant pterodactyls expanded, giving us room.

  Karn hadn’t used the ancient formula as Forkbeard had taught me. By drawing his lance and saying it the way he did, he implied lance-to-lance combat. I believe I understood his cunning. He had said it this way so he could hurl his throwing daggers if he needed to. He had left himself a loophole.

  Could I use that loophole?

  If I began hurling javelins, his riders might declare I’d been treacherous. That might mean an aerial battle between his riders and mine. His riders outnumbered mine many times over. They would slaughter us, and that would be the end of my dreams for uniting the humans of Mu.

  Cunning Karn the Red, he was a worthy foe indeed. This might truly be my deadliest and most difficult fight since I’d started my travels among the stars.

  This was it then—a battle for the soul of what the Pterodactyl Riders would become. Would they stay wild, Hell’s Angels–style raiders living only for themselves, or something greater, something that could help unite humanity against the inhuman threats?

  I pulled my lance free, fifteen feet of ironwood tipped with that wicked steel head, and guided my beast into position.

  Until Karn cheated, I would have to do this lance-to-lance.

  “Ready yourself, Karn,” I shouted, feeling the familiar pre-combat calm settling over me, the same feeling I’d had before firefights in Bhutan. This was what I did, what I was good at. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  The circle of riders drew their swords and axes, and began beating them against their saddles.

  Karn gave a savage grin, drawing on a control strap so his black beast surged forward.

  The battle for the Pterodactyl Riders had begun.

  -4-

  Karn came at me like the Angel of Death, his black pterodactyl’s wings beating with powerful strokes. My beast screeched a challenge and surged forward, tired after the long flight but still game. The distance between us collapsed with frightening speed.